I was just about to text Husband Sam this afternoon to say “yay, all finished with my last ever Chaplaincy Supporters’ Christmas Service, one more thing checked off the list” when I stepped onto the footpath after crossing the road, turned my ankle and nearly fell. It’s the second time I’ve turned that same ankle this week and it hurt like billy-o. I froze and tried not to cry while the two chaps who’d crossed the road with me asked if I was okay. I said “I think so”, bravely, and made some inane comment about not trying to walk and text at once. Last time I twisted my ankle I wasn’t texting but trying to fix my brooch so it would sit right. That time I actually did fall over on my butt, which made me feel ridiculous, and bent the pin of the brooch, which was a gift from my beloved mother-in-law. (It was fine, I straightened it right out again against my desk when I got to work.)
This time, though, I wasn’t even wearing heels! I’ve often fallen off the platform jandals I was wearing last time, but today it was 2-inch block-heel nice conservative pumps for the Christmas service, so why did I fall over? Perhaps my body, realising that it’s not going to get migraines any more now that I’ve quit coffee and found a good preventive regime, has to get a bit more creative to make me stop moving and shut up for a while.
I often used to twist my ankles when I was a kid. Maybe mine are a bit weak. Maybe I walk funny. God knows. Anyway, I’m now lying on the couch with two cushions at one end and a bread-bag full of melting ice-cubes at the other, a bandaged left ankle, a plate that used to have home-made biscuits on it and a mug of orange juice. And my laptop, of course. It’s amazing what your kids will do for you if you let them see you cry.
I am very thankful right now that I cooked tea last night – a big pot of soup that Mr 9 can put on the stove while Miss 4 and Mr 7 fight over who gets to make toast. I’m quite looking forward to being looked after by my kids some more. Sam will be a bit late home. Hope I’ll survive.